


In Silks and Sweet Surrender

by Mairyn



Series: 101 Ways to Feel Conflicted [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Making Out, Oral Sex, Romance, Secretive Trysts in the Middle of a Fete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 13:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mairyn/pseuds/Mairyn
Summary: Following the demise of the Mother, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden host a fete to celebrate the reclamation of the Blackmarsh. Fane struggles with the memory of nobility. Nathaniel helps her to relax.Or: A one-shot, self-indulgent sequel to my first Cousland/Howe fic, 101 Ways to Feel Conflicted. Can be comfortably read as a standalone.





	In Silks and Sweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again. Honestly I just really missed writing this pairing and wanted to do something fun and self-indulgent. This is the result. Thanks for reading!

9:31 Dragon, 28 Harvestmere

When at last the Mother had perished—shrieking and writhing atop the mass of flesh beneath her, tentacles deflating and slumping to the ground, her children coiling into bloody pools at her feet—Fane turned away from the miserable creature with both disgust and gratitude coloring her heart. She was riddled with wounds freely spilling blood and Sigrun had nearly perished, but at long last, the worst of the wardens’ concerns seemed to be well and truly over. All that now remained was Fane’s duties over the Arling of Amaranthine, which, by way of comparison, seemed mere trifles.

Foremost among them was the fete Mistress Woolsey initially proposed to celebrate the Blackmarsh’s reclamation. Grateful nobles would spend good coin to get their hands on the soon-to-be-restored ports and Amaranthine would benefit in turn. Now that the darkspawn threat had begun to vanish, still more nobles from the more remote stretches of Ferelden were like to make the journey, if only to lay eyes on the Hero of Ferelden herself. While Fane was not particularly enchanted by the idea, she was wise enough to know an advantageous business opportunity when she saw one. The additional coin would serve the wardens well in the years to come. She could stomach a night of posturing if only for that.

And so the preparations began. Echoes of her former life were nothing short of disorienting as the Keep seemed to suddenly transform before her eyes. Any trace of the Howes—the portraits in the Great Hall, the family crests embellishing mantles, the few remaining traces of Rendon’s stark and barren sense of decor—were promptly removed and replaced with tributes to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, who had struck down the Archdemon and put an end to the Blight. With the help of a few lads he’d recruited from Amaranthine and the nearby farms, Samuel manicured the bailey to a simple grace. The servants removed the Lady Howe’s good furniture from storage and placed it gracefully about the Keep’s public spaces, transforming the dim halls with which Fane had become so familiar into the trappings of a truly elegant Arlessa’s holding. 

“Strange, isn’t it?” Nathaniel asked as they watched servants rush down the hall ahead of them, baskets of fresh linens in hand. “It’s almost like we’re nobles again.”

Admittedly, though little more than a far-off dream now, the hustle and bustle did make Fane feel a bit homesick. Nobility was like to something she’d lived in another life—the fine silks she’d worn and the fetes she’d attended in her youth, the whisperings that one day she might become the Teyrna of Highever rather than her brother—seemed as though they belonged to someone else’s memory entirely. Phantoms of a past long abandoned. For better or worse, the Blight had transformed her; to return to what had once been normalcy in its aftermath now felt jarring. Much of her longed to return to the uncertainty of battle.

“Should we sneak away and leave them to it?” Fane asked, eager to occupy herself elsewhere and alleviate the anxiety building in her stomach. She trailed an enticing fingertip down the length of Nathaniel’s arm. He smiled at her knowingly.

“Anything you like, Commander.”

As he ushered her into a shadowy corner of the Keep and placed his lips against her throat, Fane sighed her relief. Peace wasn’t without its benefits.

In the early stages of the event, a local tailor caught wind of their plans and became adamant in the idea that the Commander in all her splendor required his assistance for the occasion. The standard Warden uniform supplied to everyone else simply wouldn’t do: she needed a  _ dress _ , and a pretty one at that. The idea didn’t sit particularly well with her, even if she did quite like dressing up. She was quick to politely reject the offer. But lo and behold, a few days later, a courier arrived with the most beautiful dress Fane had ever seen in hand, alongside a handwritten note which fawned that such a creation was the least he could offer to the Hero of Ferelden. She had no choice but to wear it, really, and for the first time she caught herself thinking that she needed the assistance blending in with the nobility anyhow. The distance between who she was and who she had become grew larger by the day.

“Fegus will be here soon,” Fane murmured to Nathaniel one night as they were lying together in bed, tangled among the sheets. “How should we--” She stopped, cleared her throat, and tried again, a bit nervous at the prospect. “Should we tell him? About us?”

She glanced up at him and spotted the expected wariness in his eyes. It’d taken even Fane quite some time to warm up to Nathaniel. Her bull-headed brother was like to strike him down on the spot.

“Your brother is a smart man,” he agreed after a moment of thought, smoothing a hand along her unbound hair. “He’ll figure it out sooner rather than later.” His brows were knit, but he encouragingly squeezed her shoulder. “We should tell him.”

Fane buried her face against the ticklish plains of his chest and groaned.

“Ah yes, brother,” she practiced into the mirror the day of the fete, now dressed and stirred to anxiousness by the number of nobles awaiting her presence in the Great Room, “You heard me perfectly. I’m now  _ sleeping _ with the son of the man who  _ killed _ our father.” 

She scratched ashamedly at the side of her face. She was a fool. A fool who would argue the merits of her relationship with Nathaniel until her dying breath, but a fool nonetheless. In the bailey below, a few dozen people—nobles and merchants alike—waited in packs, laughing and bantering amongst themselves; many were eager to meet with her personally. To the best of her knowledge Fergus hadn’t yet arrived, but despite her worry at disclosing her relationship, she was excited to see him. She had missed her brother dearly in the months since they’d last met.

Fane stepped back from the tall, narrow mirror she requested be moved into her room for the evening. She’d pinned her dark hair up into a well-practiced series of braids and emphasized her features with a bit of makeup. The dress she wore was styled—the tailor explained in his letter—after some of the more common dresses of women in Tevinter: with less pomp and circumstance, but gorgeous all the same. The fabric of the skirt did not bell out in the fashion of Orlesian nobles or fall stiff about her hips like Fereldan dresses. Instead, the tailor chose a lavender fabric smooth to the touch which cascaded elegantly to the floor, the waist tightly cinched by a simple piece of dyed and braided leather. The neckline cut low without sacrificing much in the way of modesty and a silver clasp drew the fabric of the top half together between her breasts. The pins which gathered the sleeves at her shoulders were silver as well, while leaving the length of her arms uncovered. The attire was a bit cold for the season, but lovely all the same, just as she’d been promised. 

Fane wondered if she wasn’t a bit overdressed, truth be told, but quickly recalled the way every noble she had ever met took opportunities such as these as an open invitation to display the finest doublets and dresses they otherwise had little reason to wear. Another glance at the attire of those gathered in the bailey below affirmed her suspicions: brightly colored silks and expensive furs draped over each and every frame. She was overthinking things. When the Warden uniforms had at last arrived some few days before, she’d felt guilty leaving her own in the armory. But why not allow herself a brief return to her past? Perhaps it would benefit her.

A sudden knock drew her attention away from her reflection. The other wardens—Nathaniel included—were readying themselves elsewhere. There was only one person it could be. She crossed the room, privately satisfied by the way the blade she belted to her thigh remained hidden while in motion (some habits, despite her best efforts, never died), and tugged the door open. A bright smile illuminated her features when she found her brother on the other side.

“Well?” Fergus asked. “Are you going to let me in?”

Fane shoved the door aside with one quick motion and threw herself forward. She drew her brother into a tight hug. “Caution first, dear brother. You might have been an assassin.”

“Judging by the number of guardsmen stationed in every corner,” Fergus said, squeezing back so hard he lifted her off her feet a moment, “I doubt you have anything to worry about.” She pointedly whined in the way of sisters and brothers and kicked her dangling feet. He dropped her gently back to the floor. “No more than usual, anyways.”

“We’ve been somewhat overly cautious of late,” Fane admitted. 

The situation they’d been warned of by Ser Tamara had long since been dealt with by the Dark Wolf; a brief letter arrived a handful of weeks after their stilted interaction in the back alleys of Amaranthine, citing that the threat had been promptly dealt with. The letter coincided, somewhat unsurprisingly, with whisperings that a minor lord had mysteriously vanished. Fane had no doubt as to his fate.

Even so:  _ In peace, vigilance _ .

“You’ve got the arling well under control, sister,” Fergus assured her. “I was vetted by at least three of your men before I made it into this wing.” Over-prepared indeed, Fane thought, and felt somewhat embarrassed for the fact. Even so, it was a comfort to know she wouldn’t be slain in her sleep anytime soon. “I’m pleased to see you’re doing well. You look lovely.”

“You as well,” she said. He wore their father’s ceremonial armor, the Cousland crest forged into the steel over his breastbone. His reddish-brown hair had acquired a bit more gray and his eyes were a little more tired, but overall he looked as though politics had treated him quite well in her absence. He looked, for all of Ferelden, like a Teyrn. She glanced down at her dress again and the needling thought returned. “I’m not overdressed?”

“Hardly,” he rolled his eyes, working his way around her and further into her room. “Wait until you see Bann Sighard’s wife. You’d think she was attending a ball at Halamshiral.”

“I never knew you were so interested in the fashion of minor nobles,” Fane teased and followed after him, shutting the door behind her. She absently added, “Or are you planning another wedding already?”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.  _ Too soon by far _ . Fergus, though, didn’t seem to notice as he examined the pressed flower arrangements on the wall. Instead, he fell back into their casual sibling banter as though they’d never left it. Fane relaxed.

“Not until you find yourself a husband,” he taunted. “I can’t beat you to the punch  _ twice _ in a row.” 

She pulled an unimpressed face as she sat down on the edge of her bed and he laughed heartily. She’d had some few romances as a teenager, but never anything which might have led to marriage. Fergus was always the one their father had pressured to wed: it was his duty to carry on the Cousland name. His and his alone. 

“I’ve more important things to do than get married,” Fane reminded him and he feigned fixing his hair in the mirror. “Ferelden’s needed saving twice in the last year. It’s only a matter of time before something new arises.”

“My sincerest pardons, oh hero,” he replied dryly. After a moment, he turned around and scrutinized her through narrowed eyes. “No one, then? Not even a minor dalliance?”

She tried to keep her expression still, but knew he would see right through her regardless. He always had. Suddenly she wondered how Fergus might react if things ever did come to fruition between herself and Nathaniel. Would he consider it the ultimate betrayal? Or accept her decision with relative ease? She wasn’t certain she could tell.

In the end she settled for, “No one I’m willing to mention just yet.”

He stared her down for another long moment. She stared back, unrelenting. Eventually he gave in and changed the subject. His eyes swept around the room once more. “I remember more of this place than I care to admit.”

“So did I,” she agreed, unsurprised by their similar reactions. Gentle reminders of the past were everywhere in Vigil’s Keep, no matter how hard the staff had tried to scrub the memories of Arl Howe clean. “Claiming the Keep for the wardens has been strange, to put it mildly.”

“Better the wardens than the Howes,” Fergus spat. Suddenly he looked petulant as a young boy. Fane pointedly avoided any reaction, but recognized that petulance. She’d felt it too, once upon a time. “None of those blighters are still lurking around the Keep, are they?”

That answered that, then.

“Most of them are dead,” she admitted carefully, even as she was determined to remain firm in her opinion. She smoothed the fabric of her dress flat against her thighs. “But Nathaniel is a Warden now. And I believe he’s invited Delilah and her husband to the fete, as well.”

The admission seemed to surprise him. He stepped forward and leaned against one of her bedposts, looking lost in thought for a moment.

“A Warden?” The tone of his voice wasn’t unpleasant; if might have even contained a hint of admiration. Even so, he still looked half-annoyed at the thought. “That was your decision? Or was it forced on you?”

Fane frowned, annoyed by the suggestion. “I’m the Warden Commander,” she shot back, a bit offended by the implication that anyone could challenge her authority. “ _ Everything _ is my decision.”

She imagined he would’ve grinned at her bravado under different circumstances. Instead he folded his arms across his chest and kept his tone even, yet terse. His suspicions were clear. Her heart thundered in her chest. “And you’d willingly recruit a Howe? After what his father did to our family?”

Fane stood up and put some distance between the two of them while she considered how to respond. She understood the sentiment. Had she not spent the last handful of months working with Nathaniel personally—her opinion shifting and turning and growing perhaps a bit too fond along the way—she’d no doubt still be suspicious of his motives as well. Wariness was only natural given the circumstances. But she couldn’t welcome an unfair assessment.

“We were all friends once,” she reminded him. A bit of shame crept into his expression at the reminder. No doubt he too carried fond memories buried deep in the past. “You know as well as I do that Nathaniel and Delilah can’t be held accountable for the decisions their father made. They’re good people.”

Fergus went quiet for a long moment as he considered the thought and Fane folded her arms across her chest, trying to keep from collapsing inwards. Something strange passed in his expression, quickly smothered. At last he said, “I suppose this is why everyone thought you’d become Teyrna. You’re too level-headed for your own good.”

Fergus dropped the subject after that, but remained more contemplative than when he’d arrived. The two of them spoke on other matters for a while longer, Fergus recounting the reconstruction efforts in Highever, Fane skimming over the details of their now concluded battle with the Mother, and when the time came, the two of them headed into the Great Hall, where the celebration would soon begin. The crowd of nobles was far larger than she anticipated. A veritable rainbow of garments shifted against one another, blurring together into a hazy swathe of Ferelden’s most powerful. 

Her fellow wardens had already made their way to the head of the chamber. Each of them was dressed in their newly received Warden uniform: blue and silver chainmail, emblazoned with the seal of the griffin. Fane was the lone exception among them. Had it been wrong of her to separate herself from them in this way? After all, what they’d accomplished, they’d accomplished together. Even so, it was she who’d struck down the Archdemon, and not even her own modesty could suppress the gravity of that action. Fane parted from Fergus and went to stand among her friends when, naturally, she caught Nathaniel’s gaze at precisely the wrong moment. 

The uniform suited him in a way she hadn’t expected, giving him a certain air of dignity which emphasized all the traits she found herself so often entranced by to begin with. The steel plate which covered his chest highlighted its broadness and a finely crafted Griffin pauldon on his left shoulder perched atop the firm expanse of his bicep. From the way his eyes raked over her body, unrepentant and appreciative, she imagined he quite agreed with the sentiment. She was already filing away a half-dozen excuses to sneak away with him and strip him out of that uniform with haste. Surely one of them would do the trick.

When at last the ceremony began, the seneschal staged a brief address which honored each of them in turn, praising their bravery and the good they’d achieved for the arling. Fane couldn’t help but notice Anders basking in the rare, positive attention. He deserved it. It wasn’t often mages were given appropriate recognition for their talents. Oghren, too, seemed particularly proud of himself while Velanna looked quietly pleased. Having chosen to leave his helmet on—a wise decision—Fane couldn’t easily tell what Justice was thinking. Though, to be fair, that was nothing unusual. Sigrun only looked a bit bashful. When Fane’s eyes caught Nathaniel’s once again, he spared her a covert wink.

The instant the address and the ensuing applause ended, a veritable herd of nobles surged forward to speak with the wardens, though most were admittedly interested in her. Fane supposed it was a compliment, but by the fifteenth time she recounted the way they’d all brought the Blackmarsh’s baroness down together, she was beginning to grow weary. Large gatherings such as these were never her favorite growing up. Too much interaction drained her without mercy. By the time she’d carved a path out into the bailey to speak with a far larger audience of merchants, the celebration proper had officially begun. People ate and played instruments, children laughed and squealed as they chased one another in circles. They seemed happy, for what little the brief interlude was worth, and she supposed she could set aside her distress for one night.

As the night wore on, Fane lost track of Nathaniel and her brother entirely. Amidst the unending crowd and loud music, it would be something of a trial to track them down. She spent another hour indulging in a series of relatively peaceful conversations with anyone who approached her, but eventually, the urge to creep away was too powerful to resist. She was just beginning to make her way back towards the Keep proper when a damp hand on her shoulder drew her to a halt. It was Bann Waslin, if she remembered correctly: a young, enormously tall, and sweaty man who seemed entirely too enthralled with her mere presence.

“My lady,” he said, literally breathless. His pale forehead, she noted, might very well hold enough sweat to fill the Waking Sea. “I would love— That is, if you— Speaking to you would be quite the honor.”

“Certainly,” Fane said, attempting to appear gracious despite the somewhat off-putting nature of his twitching hands and unfortunate smell.

“It’s recently come to my attention, my lady,” he pulled a green kerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his hairline, “that you are unmarried.”

Maker preserve her. She forced a smile. “I am.”

“Is it reasonable to assume that you are likewise unattached?” he asked, smiling back awkwardly. Her stomach dropped. Maker. If this was a marriage proposal—what was he thinking? “I don’t mean to intrude, of course.” He quickly covered. “I’m simply hoping to assuage some curiosity in regards to your… status, as it were. My lady.”

“I—” Suddenly yet another, much more calming hand rested on her shoulder and she turned to find Nathaniel standing beside her in total, rather grave seriousness. For an instant she genuinely worried something had gone terribly wrong. Bann Waslin, too, dropped into a wary silence.

“I apologize for the interruption, my lord,” Nathaniel said in perfect repose, every action carefully calculated. He looked at her pointedly. “Commander, there is an urgent bit of business requiring your immediate attention.” 

The man, for what it was worth, seemed crushed but made no immediate comment.

“This seems rather serious,” Fane agreed. “I apologize, Bann Waslin. We can speak again later, I’m sure.” Anxiously fidgeting once more, the man opened his mouth to respond and loosely reached a hand between them, but Nathaniel had already begun to lead her away. “Please,” she called back to him, “enjoy yourself!” 

Nathaniel quickly directed the both of them back towards the Great Hall. Fane leaned in as close as she dared, whispering, “Am I right to assume there’s no actual business?”

“There is,” he assured her, dead serious. She wasn’t certain whether to believe him or not. “Of the highest order.”

They hooked a firm left before reaching the Great Hall and instead stole down a path Fane had never taken. The guards gave them curious glances as they navigated past, but said nothing. Eventually they reached a spiraling staircase leading up into one of the Keep’s towers. At the top was a door which must’ve been locked, as Nathaniel stopped and began rummaging in one of the small bags strapped to his belt. He produced the key easily and unlocked the door, and the two of them quickly ducked inside. Nathaniel locked the door behind them. The blessed quiet soothed her nerves instantly.

Within was a gently candlelit rotunda. Fane had never become aware of its existence, though admittedly, there were many stretches of Vigil’s Keep which she hadn’t yet invistigated. The room held four curtain-less windows which overlooked the Keep in every cardinal direction but were far enough above to afford privacy. From below, Fane could still hear the music and excitement as the nobles danced and played. A few pieces of furniture lay within, but most obvious among them was a simple bed, laid out with clean linens. A watchman’s bedroom, perhaps, once upon a time. Nathaniel, it seemed, had been busy preparing for this moment.

“It seemed you were in need of rescue, my lady,” Nathaniel mocked a curt bow as she turned to examine him.

A large smile suddenly claimed her face. Fane pressed a hand to her heart, tone equally teasing. “And here I thought handsome rogues only saved distressed noblewomen in the tales.”

“I like being predictable,” he agreed.

His gaze tenderly caressed her in the warm candlelight emanating from the bedside tables. Some furniture draped in sheets to spare them the dust sat on the opposite end of the room, untouched. At some point, during the fete preparations, Nathaniel must’ve claimed the key. The mere thought that he’d planned this excited Fane to no end. She leaned back against the door, as though doing so might prevent anyone else from barging in where the lock couldn’t.

Nathaniel stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His gloved thumb grazed the silver broach between her breasts. “Has anyone told you how beautiful you look this evening?” 

Many had, in fact, but no other compliment seemed to carry the same weight Nathaniel’s did. A light blush colored her cheeks. Perhaps the dress had done some good after all. The excitement and secrecy of abandoning a fete to fool around in the shadows had set her body alight. She was more than eager to play along with this facade.

“Has anyone told you that uniform suits you?” she retaliated. He smiled, just a little, and his grey eyes rose to meet hers.

“Seems we make quite the pair.” 

Fane recognized the hunger in his eyes as he remained mere inches away, gazing down at her openly. It was the very same hunger currently stirring her gut to an irredeemable mess of butterflies. She pulled in a quiet breath.

“So we do.”

It would’ve been easy enough to let the moment progress from there, to let Nathaniel lean in and claim what they both longed for, but Fane wasn’t a fan of simple surrender. Better to draw it out a bit. It would be all the sweeter for the delay. She pushed away from the door and sauntered past him with an impish grin, moving to stand in front of the bed. She looked over the sheets for a moment and was surprised to find that she could sense Nathaniel’s approach even with her back turned. Her body had become finely attuned to his presence.

Nathaniel’s hands wrapped around her waist and his lips came down hot upon her neck. “I spoke with Fergus.”

_ That _ caught her attention in a way not even burning arousal could suppress. She turned around immediately. “I hope he wasn’t—”

“He was very civil,” Nathaniel assured her, lifting a hand in oath. In a bizarre turn, however, a bit of mischief seemed to dance behind his eyes. He quickly added, “For most of the conversation.”

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t suppress the disappointment in her voice, though she supposed it was to be expected. Even  _ she _ had torn into Nathaniel upon their first meeting.

Nathaniel smirked. “You aren’t exactly subtle.” Fane felt the blood drain from her face, instantly understanding what he meant. “He made it very clear that if I ever hurt you I’d wind up on a ship bound for the Anderfels with a bag over my head.”

“Maker’s breath, he’s just like father.” She buried her face in her hands, despite the subtle wash of relief now claiming her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His hands wrapped around her wrists, tugging them gently away. Right when she thought he might let go, his fingers slipped through her own. Her flush returned. “Is it right to assume you’re otherwise unattached, my lady?”

“Quite,” she said, feeling a bit breathless.

“Precisely what I hoped to hear.” He released one of her hands in favor of trailing his fingertips up and down the length of her exposed arm, his touch feather-light despite the gloves. Fane breathed in the scent of him, clean and masculine, and stepped a bit closer. “Tell the truth,” he prompted. “If you were older and my father attempted to arrange something between us—would you have considered it?”

Fane paused, feigning thought though her answer had long been certain. “I might have given you a chance.”

Nathaniel pressed a soft kiss to the side of her face, the stretch of skin beneath her ear, the top of her shoulder. “Dare I hope?”

“What do you hope?” Fane shuddered.

He cupped her face in his left hand as he continued the gentle exploration of her neck, smoothing his thumb across her cheekbone. “I hope it means whatever you like, my lady.”

“Fane,” she reminded him, unable to tear away and look him in the eyes, regardless of how badly she wished to.

“Fane,” he repeated.

The tender workings of lips, teeth, and tongue against the sensitive skin of her neck coiled arousal tight in her belly. When he’d eventually grown satisfied with his ministrations, Nathaniel pulled back and brought their lips together properly, a gentle and reverent contact that made Fane go weak in the knees. She gripped the straps holding his breastplate in place and kissed back with the passion of a woman consumed. Her tongue glanced across his lips before graciously being permitted entry. Easy as breathing, Nathaniel claimed her in this manner as well, the ebb and flow of their kiss shifting and changing as their tongues coiled together, passion and gentleness taking them in equal measure.

Their bodies collided closely as they might and Fane suppressed the urge to squirm against him impatiently. His hands rested in the valley of her lower back, fingers beginning to work at the leather cord binding her dress, and she released her hold on the straps of his breastplate in order to assist him. When the fabric hung about her somewhat more loosely, she began pursuing her own interests, pulling away from their kiss in order to better focus her attention on the task at hand. She tugged off his gloves, one and then the other, then undid the buckles binding his breastplate and pauldrons in place. The pieces of armor dropped to the floor of the rotunda with a loud clang, and she went still a moment, concerned, before Nathaniel laughed.

“We won’t be disturbed here,” he assured her, tugging his tunic over his head. “I’ve made sure of it.”

The sparse hair and muscles of his chest now appeared to her, unobstructed. It was a sight she’d seen time and time again since they first began these trysts, but one which never went unappreciated. The desire to have him—to serve him as she knew how—consumed her.

“Sit down,” she instructed him, voice somewhat hoarse. He kissed her once before doing as he was told.

Now seated on the edge of the bed, Nathaniel’s eyes were trained only on her and glimmered in the candlelight. Fane smiled before pulling the pins at the shoulders of her dress free, letting the fabric slump to the floor in a puddle at her feet. She stepped out of her simple flats, then slowly removed her smallclothes as well, until at last she stood naked before him.

“I’ll never tire of this sight,” Nathaniel’s voice rang low and carnal. His expression was openly appreciative.

Fane flushed and stepped forward to stand between his knees, now slightly taller than him where he sat. She leaned down to press a long and lingering kiss to his lips, savoring the way his fingertips traced down the naked curves of her body, reaching back to cup her ass and pull her flush against him. The heat of his skin against hers was ever a welcome reprieve. She revelled a moment as she kissed him deeply. She trailed her fingers down the side of his throat, his stubble scraping pleasantly against her fingertips, and when she’d finished, she dropped carefully to her knees in front of him.

His eyes flashed with interest. Fane removed his boots and set to work on the buttons of his trousers; she dragged the fabric down to his knees and then off his body entirely. His smallclothes were quick to follow. His cock stood erect between them, eager for her touch. She was more than happy to oblige.

Resting her free hand against the skin of his inner thigh, Fane took his length in the other and gave him a few loose strokes, grinning when he grunted appreciatively. Though she wanted nothing more than to tease him endlessly, her own desires proved too strong to toy with him for long, and soon enough she leaned forward and swept her tongue across the head, his salty sweet taste an invitation to pull him further into her mouth. She took him in as far as she could and wrapped what she couldn’t in her fingers. Nathaniel’s hands came down on her hair for a moment before he seemingly thought better of it—they would need to be seen again in an at least semi-acceptable state, after all—and gripped her bare shoulders instead.

It took her a moment or two to find her rhythm, but when she did, Fane passionately maintained it. Every few strokes his cock would bump against the back of her throat, but suppressing her instincts was worth it for the way his fingers dug into her skin and he moaned openly into the warm dimness surrounding them. Beneath her left hand she could feel the muscles of his thigh begin to tense, and eventually he gently pushed her back. She stared up at him and wiped her lips clean.

“Maker.” He cursed at the sight. “I’m--” he swallowed and smiled sheepishly. “I’m nearly there. I don’t want to waste this. Not yet.”

Fane pressed one last, teasing kiss to the head of his cock before standing up, knees tingling with relief. Nathaniel immediately tugged her close and pulled her down on top of him, then swapped their positions so it was she who lay naked with her back against the sheets.

“In all my years,” he said, trailing a hand down her stomach, “I’ve never met a woman as beautiful as you.”

She might have flushed red at the compliment if she weren’t flushed from head to toe already. His fingertips stopped their descent just inches from the wet heat between her legs and he swept them back and forth across the sensitive skin he found there. She sighed, and squirmed against the sheets, urging him to touch her properly. Nathaniel leaned down and pressed a kiss to the stretch of skin between her breasts, then tentatively peeked his fingertips into her folds and slicked across her deftly. She moaned with abandon, heedless of the thought that she might be heard.

“Nate,” she begged. “Please.”

One of his fingers slotted inside her easily and he laughed as he pressed a kiss to the hardened nub of one of her nipples. Her body felt as though she’d been set alight: every inch of her flesh seemed to radiate the desire and pleasure she’d so eagerly sought out. A second finger joined the fray, and then finally a third, after which she began to feel the pleasant burn of being stretched towards her limits. Nathaniel bit down on one of her nipples and then laved away the pain with his tongue as he gently fingered her, drawing her closer to the selfsame edge she’d brought him to only moments earlier.

“I need you,” she confessed. Nathaniel peppered kisses across the top of her chest and shoulders, working his way towards her lips. His thumb swirled against her clit, pleasure burning brighter than ever. “I need you to take me.”

As he kissed her, his tongue plunging into her mouth, so too did she continue to feel his fingers plunging inside of her. The dizzying wash of arousal grew tighter and tighter within her, sweeping closer and closer to the edge, until at long last she reached down and stilled his hand. The slick drag of his fingers as they exited her body made her shudder. She was well and truly drenched. Maker. He’d scarcely need to touch her to undo her entirely at this rate.

“Spread your legs,” he said, mid-kiss, before surging in to sweep his tongue against hers once again. She did as she was asked, parting her thighs wide so that he could settle between them, and he dragged his lips away from hers just long enough to glance down and align himself with her.

Nathaniel plunged inside without resistance and she shivered, nearly coming on the spot. She kissed him back, hard, then tangled his long black hair between her fingers, pulling him close as he began to move. His lips broke away. He panted against her cheek. As he swiftly found his rhythm, Nathaniel pressed forward somewhat more insistently, lifting her hips just slightly in order to find a better angle. He plunged into her deep and hard, again and again, the hot press of the head of his cock driving her to cry out with every slap of his flesh against hers.

She’d drawn her knees back to near her chest, splayed out before him without shame, grunting and groaning as they built towards the end together, his hot breath against the crook of her neck driving her to the sublime precipice of bliss. As he grew closer, his thrusts became harder and more erratic, and she surged her hips forward to meet him, crying out when at last she tumbled over the edge, her body squeezing hard around him, pleasure surging through her veins, blinding her for an instant before she came crashing down.

She felt him come within her, hips gradually slowing in their motions, hot breath turning to unstifled moans, and she wrapped her arms around him as he slumped on top of her, exhausted and sated. They lay together like that for some time. Nathaniel pressed a tender kiss against her lips before rolling onto his back so as not to crush her, and she nuzzled against his chest, beyond pleased with the gentle, humming energy beneath every inch of her skin.

“Maker, I needed that,” she admitted, pressing her lips to the hot skin of his abdomen. “Thank you.”

“Always happy to serve you,” he said honestly. She smiled and squeezed him in a tight embrace.

They lay together in silence for a long while as they both came down from the heat of the moment. When at last the sweat upon their skin had cooled and their breathing had returned to normal, Fane sat up and smoothed her hair. Though certain she now reeked of sex, she could no doubt find a washroom to duck inside quickly and clean up. Nathaniel watched her as she climbed out of bed and retrieved her smallclothes, tugging them back onto her now-exhausted frame. She frowned at her dress where it pooled on the floor, and fought the urge to simply climb back into bed.

“I hate to say it, but we should probably head back.”

Nathaniel sat up as well, languorous, and stretched his arms. “You may be right.”

They helped one another get dressed again. Fane brushed the slight cling of dust from her skirt. Nathaniel strapped his breastplate back into place. She re-pinned her shoulders and re-tied the cord around her waist. Save for the sweet soreness in her muscles, she felt nearly as pulled together as she had prior to their foray. Nathaniel Howe knew how to treat his lovers: that much was certain. When he appeared pulled together as well, she stepped towards him and took his face in her hands, pressing a long and lingering kiss against his lips.

“We should probably go talk to my brother,” she said. “Together.” 

Nathaniel nodded.

Fane pulled open the door and stepped out into the small hall leading to the stairwell, watching as Nathaniel quickly locked the door behind him. They both heard the rustling in the hall below at the same time and Fane swallowed thickly. Had someone been spying? Another moment and a voice rang up the stairwell.

“Quiet now.” It was Anders, his voice low and teasing. “If you’re too loud— _ mmph _ .”

His words were suddenly cut off by a series of kissing noises and Fane turned to Nathaniel, gawking with delight. She’d been gifted a goldmine. The two of them quietly made their way down the stairs, and as they drew closer, another voice Fane didn’t recognize drifted towards them.

“Someone’s coming.”

A moment later, Fane came upon Anders and one of the guardsmen attempting to look natural, though both of them seemed somewhat embarrassed. Their clothes were in minor disarray. One of the buckles for Anders armor was undone entirely. Nathaniel smirked.

“Ah, Commander,” Anders said, trying to sound nonchalant. “How are you this fine evening?”

“Oh  _ quite _ well,” Fane emphasized, unable to control the smugness in her voice. She’d been the subject of Anders’ teasing for so very long it was nice to finally receive some ammunition of her own. “And who is this? Friend of yours?”

“Ah,” Anders nodded. Fane realized suddenly that she recognized the man as one of her scouts from the Blackmarsh expedition. “Jessek and I were just—”

Fane raised her hands in surrender between them. “It’s none of my business. But might I recommend you find somewhere more private?”

Jessek’s eyes had gone wide and his face had nearly purpled with embarrassment. Fane felt bad for the poor man. Anders, for what it was worth, seemed to have taken it all in stride. He smirked, eyeing Fane and Nathaniel carefully. “It appears you two found just the one!”

Despite her best efforts, Fane’s eyes darted away and some color rose to her cheeks. She immediately began to head away. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Gracious as ever, dear Commander!” Anders called after her.

Fane and Nathaniel closed the door to the stairwell behind them. Once a ways down the hall, she covered her face and laughed, embarrassment beginning to vanish. “So much for not getting caught.”

Nathaniel huffed a quiet laugh and rubbed the backs of her shoulders for a moment, hiding his own embarrassment. She was reminded for perhaps the thousandth time why she held the man so very dear. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

The fete waited. Fergus waited. The uncertainty of her life post-blight waited. But regardless of the troubles they faced, Fane decided, anything was worth the struggle if it meant she might remain at Nathaniel’s side.


End file.
